


food or friend?

by quakenbake (raccoontitties)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoontitties/pseuds/quakenbake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia lets her go and crosses the room to stand right behind Stiles, demanding he give her a ride home. Kira is left wondering if this means they’re friends now and whether or not she can count on Malia not to devour her wounded carcass during a tough winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	food or friend?

Kira guesses this is how pack meetings are always going to be. It’s fitting that a wolf pack made of an alpha wolf; a fox, a coyote, a banshee, and a human would be unorthodox.

Her mother would call it inefficient, the way they’re crowded into Scott’s room while Melissa is at work. Lydia, Stiles, and Scott are squished together on his bed all hunched over Stiles’ laptop arguing in that super fast way they tend to.

Well, Stiles and Lydia are arguing. Scott’s starting hard at the screen in a way that says his brain is starting to hurt. Occasionally he looks up to keep the other two on track. He smiled at her when she walked in, the tension leaving his face for a moment. But then his lips turned back down and she could see the weight of his responsibility like a tangible thing, the pressure of not knowing what to do, and not having a clue how to process everything at once. The pressure of trying to keep the rest of his friends alive.

She wants to offer a hug or rub his back or say something that will help, but she’s still on level one with this supernatural stuff. She’s mastered the basics of her powers and slicing people with her katana; this situation is out of her league. At least the resurrection part is something _they’ve_  dealt with before. The de-aged werewolf thing is probably new, though. Kira decides that Scott has way too much on his plate to deal with whatever is going on between them.

Besides, there’s  _Allison,_ who wouldn't have been an issue before, but everything is different now. Allison was a friend to her, but she was so much more to Scott, to everyone. The weight of her memory is heavy where it lingers between them, no matter how they try to deny it. He needs more time. She needs more time, but most of all they need to deal with Kate Argent. If Lydia’s frequent and vitriolic outbursts are any indication, Kate was the absolute worst. And if whatever she’s after includes Derek, they need to move fast.

Kira looks over to where ‘teen-Derek’ sits in Scott’s desk chair. He has it propped in the far corner with his head titled back against the wall. He finally fell asleep; she guesses losing a decade can take a lot out of a person. His light snores are a definite improvement over his terrified expression while the other three debated what to do about him  _right in front of him._  Kira sits on the floor under Scott’s window, equidistant from the bed and the desk, present but unobtrusive. That’s where she is when Malia lets herself in.

Malia is another thing Kira’s gotten used to since moving to Beacon Hills and discovering her heritage. Sometimes she jokes to herself that she’s the new girl that fell in with a bad crowd, what with the battles and the magic and the murder. But with Malia, sometimes it’s not so much a joke. Malia scares her. Not in the way the nogitsune scared her, but in the way a tiger at the zoo would be scary from the other side of the bars. Everyone in this room has seen and done things they shouldn’t, but they’re still just teenagers like her, trying to make the best of this mess. Malia is different; she’s not a kid.

No, Kira thinks to herself, that’s not fair. She is a kid,  _was_  a kid. But now she’s wild. Her default is to claw and scratch and rip out throats. (And leave the rest of them for dead)

Malia hovers on the threshold, uncharacteristically hesitant. Kira is the only one who’s noticed her. She scans the room, her face pulling into a scowl when she sees Scott and Lydia on either side of Stiles. It fades into a haunted look. For the first time, Kira sees the little girl Scott told her about. The one with no mother or sister and a father that actively hunted her for years.  

“Hey” she says drawing everyone’s attention. Scott fill’s Malia in on what they’re doing, the passage Lydia translated from archaic Latin or classical Greek or whatever, the urban legend they’ve pulled up on Stiles’ laptop, but she just stares at them, face closed and emotionless. She glances fleetingly at Derek then back and forth between Kira and the three on the bed, and it hits Kira that she’s looking for a place to sit. Malia always gravitates to Stiles, but there’s maybe three spare inches on Scott’s bed unless she pushes Scott or Lydia to the floor. (Which hopefully she won’t)

Kira doesn't know much about being a troubled werecoyote with just one friend, but she’s familiar with being the new kid and the comfort of having one specific seat that’s yours, that’s constant. She catches Malia’s eye, putting on her most inviting smile. (She knows because she practiced it in the mirror along with her flirtatious smiles and her aloof pout)

“You made it.” Kira pats the spot next to her, hoping Malia wont think she’s being summoned like a dog. Malia continues to peer around the room as if weighing her options. A tiny part of Kira is offended by how long Malia takes to decide to drop down on the floor beside her. Well, beside isn’t the best word; practically on top of is more apt. Malia’s bare thighs rub against her jeans, radiating warmth, and when Malia crosses her arms, her elbow presses into Kira’s side.

The right thing to do would be to make conversation, small talk, or even serious talk about the threat their facing, but the sulky look on Malia’s face warns against it. Instead Kira tries to ignore the way Malia subtly leans into her to catch up with the how-to-re kill-a-dead-psycho-werewolf discussion. Malia is silent for what seems like hours except to make rude dissenting noises whenever Lydia makes a point she doesn’t like. The impromptu meeting ends when Scott has to pick up Melissa from the hospital.

Kira’s surprised when Malia rises, fluid in a way completely different from Kira’s clumsiness or Lydia’s sedate gracefulness, and reaches a hand down to help her up. She figured Malia was more of the philosophy that if you can’t get up on your own, you deserve to stay down. She doesn’t step back as she tugs Kira to her feet and the gentle collision reminds her of the nightclub in Mexico. It reminds her of Malia’s arm around her waist, their hips pressed together in the exact same way and the first real smile she saw break through the nearly perpetual scowl.

But that served a purpose; this is awkward despite the way Malia grins like she’s remembering too.

Malia lets her go and crosses the room to stand right behind Stiles, demanding he give her a ride home. Kira is left wondering if this means they’re friends now and whether or not she can count on Malia not to devour her wounded carcass during a tough winter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

School starts and Kira falls back into the routine. Her father drops hints about applying early to Berkeley. Her mother does the same except encourages her to ‘aim higher’ and apply to Stanford. Her mother also insists she practice with her katana every night because dealing with the nogitsune doesn’t mean she’s safe.

As if she could forget.

Kira hopes her mother interprets her nervous laughter as being about school and her legacy and not reservations about the resurrected werewolf hunter-turned-werewolf loose in Beacon Hills.

Kira sees Scott the most in her classes, Stiles in a few others and even Lydia in her AP Music Theory class. She never sees Malia. For the first few weeks, she just assumed Malia decided not to go back to school yet. She already seemed to have very little patience with large groups of people, let alone large groups of high schoolers.

When she really wondered why she only ever saw Malia at Scott’s or climbing out of the passenger seat of Stiles’ jeep, Kira considered everything from Malia doing home schooling, to running in the woods hunting, to imagining her doing what Kira herself would do if school wasn’t required; spending everyday at the beach. But Beacon Hills is not close to the ocean and neither she nor Malia will get there to enjoy it because they’re both standing out on the field right after lunch preparing to get sweaty and dirty in the name of a well-rounded education.

Kira spots Maia right away, the only people allotted that amount of personal space in this school are usually at least half a foot taller and 70 pounds heavier or you know, werewolves. When she’s just a few feet away, Kira gently calls her name. Malia turns to face her and if she doesn’t quite smile, she manages to frown a bit less. Kira can’t decide if it’s the ‘Property of Beacon Hills’ tee shirt, the messy ponytail, or the arms crossed defensively over her chest, but today Malia looks more like a petulant child than a bloodthirsty werecoyote.

Coach Finstock stalks towards them, a giant cup of coffee in one hand and a mesh bag of brightly colored strips in the other.

“Oh no.”

“What?” Malia says.

“Football,” is all Kira says. And really, that’s all that needs to be said. Football is her least favorite gym activity except for maybe rope climbing. It’s like Coach makes up for Beacon Hills being smack in the middle of lacrosse country by having them reenact Friday Night Lights at least once a week. Kira wishes he’d grow a stronger appreciation for tennis.

“Alright children, time for the great American pastime,” Coach says. He upends the bag so the flags flutter to the damp ground.

“Isn’t that baseball?” calls a voice from behind them.

“You know what, Greenberg?” Coach picks up a ball and chucks it into the crowd of students and an ‘ow’ from the same voice follows. “When I want a history lesson, I’ll go to the history department. Now go do a lap so I don't have to look at you.”

As Greenberg trudges off, Coach turns back on the rest of them.

“Well now. Who wants to be captain? You and you” he points to two of his lacrosse players (naturally) one is a beefy blonde and the other is Danny. They start picking teams, athletes first, followed by popular students, and then the rabble. Kira and Malia end up on Danny’s team. Which is good because he at least deigns to speak to them in the huddle.

No one bothers with plays, because it’s  _gym class_ , but inexplicably the quarterbacks still shout out random words before the hike. The first time Malia snarls at someone for knocking into her on the way past, she knows there’s going to be trouble. At each snap, Kira runs far and fast, in no particular direction, rarely bothering to look over her shoulder. When she does look however, she sees Malia a few paces behind her, wide open and paying attention to something other than the game. It’s probably only the coyote reflexes that keep her from getting hit in the face with the ball. It’s definitely the coyote reflexes that act when a hapless classmate sprints at Malia, grasping at the belt around her waist and finding only air. Malia flips him over her shoulder and slams him hard on the ground. He lands with a dull thump. Kira is the only other person close enough to hear Malia’s low growl and see her eyes flash blue. The kid pinned underneath her must be close to fainting…or wetting himself. Kira knows she would be.

“Malia, stop.” Kira tries to pull her off before she does any permanent damage. “Let him up before you hurt him.” Malia is in that zone where she’s deaf to everything but the hunt and Kira’s really concerned about the blue tinge spreading over the kid’s face. She reaches out a hand and hopes her mother’s lessons on control have worked. She aims a single jolt at Malia’s vulnerable abdomen and is relieved when Malia jumps back and releases her prey with a yelp. The boy struggles away from her, gulping down mouthfuls of air.

“Jesus Christ, get that freak away from me.”

Malia bares her fangs again and this time the boy does wet himself. She yanks Malia away from him with a bit more force than necessary.

“What are you doing? You can’t go around choking people out. Didn’t Stiles explain  _that_ to you?”

“He came at me.”

“Because you had the ball. It's a game.”

“Not a very good game if I’m supposed to let people attack me without defending myself.”

Kira can feel a tension headache building behind her eyes. The commotion was enough to rouse Coach from his mid afternoon nap. He sends the boy Malia mauled to the locker room to clean up and pins them both with an uncomfortably intense stare. The veins in his head bulge and he’s chewing his gum like it’s made of rubber.

“You, unnecessary roughness,” he starts pointing at Malia, “switch teams since the other side is down a player. And we’ve only got about fifteen minutes left; try not to kill anyone with your female PMS rage. Huddle up.”

A blast of his whistle sets everything back to normal. Or almost normal. Now everyone casts dark looks at Malia and gives her an even wider berth than usual. Kira grabs Malia’s hand, remembering everything she knows about the girl in front of her.

“Relax, OK? This is a game. Didn’t you ever run around with the other coyotes, just playing around? “

The minute she says it, she regrets it. Malia’s was a coyote for eight years, running wild in the woods and now she’s not. That she misses it is obvious. Kira watches her shoulders slump and that same haunted look enter her eyes.

Malia blinks at her, and then slowly nods “Yes.”

Kira searches for words, for something to make this better, something that's a better idea than hugging someone that almost definitely does not wish to be hugged.

“Look” she says giving Malia a somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder “ no one here is out to hurt you. Just try to have fun.”

In retrospect, Kira could have given better instructions like ‘no claws’, ‘behave yourself’ or most important ‘don't’ tackle anyone.’ Malia for her part, once she stops viewing everyone within three feet of her as threats, has a lot of fun. So at least Kira knows she capable of following directions. She’s faster and stronger than everyone on the field and Kira wishes she’d told Malia to tone it down. But half the guys see her as a novelty and the other half see her as a challenge. Kira thinks Malia much prefers the latter.

“I’m open! I’m open!” shouts one of the guys on her side waving his arms at Danny. He’s a pudgy but obscenely tall boy named George with curly red hair and freckles. Basically, he’s an enormous, impossible to miss target. Not that it helps. The toss is definitely not what her dad refers to as the perfect spiral. It's a little wobbly but Danny is strong and has great aim.  The arc looks good and George is ready, light on his feet and hands ready to catch. Until Malia hip checks him to the ground and snatches the ball out of the air. While Danny screams and screams about six different rule violations she committed, Malia sprints to the endzone with a wide smile plastered on her face. This is the third time she’s scored.

Her team huddles up, bruised and downtrodden and honestly just waiting for the period to end. Danny though, looks even more determined than ever.

“I think we need to switch it up. Do something they aren’t expecting.”

“Like what,” Kira asks. “Score?”

“No. Well, yes. But what we need is a trick play.” He says, looking at her with a devilish gleam in his eyes that makes her feel like a sacrificial lamb being prepared for the slaughter.

There is a plan. She doesn’t like the plan but there is one. It involves a fake pass and a handoff. They’re counting on using her speed and the element of surprise. What they aren’t counting on is the opposite team having super hearing. Malia smirks at her, clearly having heard everything. Danny calls the play and Kira can’t help but be exceptionally aware of Malia’s movements. She trots away from Kira as if she believes Danny’s really preparing to pass, going through the motions of pursuing her usual targets. Once the ball is in her hands, Kira blocks out everything but the feel of the leather against her palms and the feel of Malia’s eyes on hers.

The easy route, straight up the right side of the field, would take her right into Malia’s path. Kira wants to make her work for it. She doubles back over the line of scrimmage, thankful that Danny’s quick enough to block for her. Kira runs down the field at jagged angles, darting and dodging players like they’re all moving under water. She laughs and hears an answering growl behind her. Kira’s legs pump hard, muscles working smoothly under her skin and she nearly  _flies_. Making it to the end zone is easy. It's the ground that's hard when Malia catches her around the waist and tumbles them both onto the unyielding dirt. Kira blinks a few times and struggles to catch the breath Malia knocked out of her. She rolls over moaning and Malia takes the opportunity to solidify her position. She shifts back onto her haunches, settling her weight across Kira’s thighs, trapping her.

“I caught you,” she boasts, smug and smiling. Kira might be imagining it due to an unnoticed concussion, but Malia’s teeth look sharp, too sharp. For a moment she’s worried about those teeth closing around her neck. Her pulse races but she’s not sure it’s entirely from fear. The trill of Coach’s whistle breaks the spell. Kira sits up, wincing from the bruises she can already feel forming.

“Kid, I don't know what kinda steroids you’re on, but this is a public school. We can’t afford lawsuits. All of you hit the showers, we’re done. “ He walks away from them muttering about juiceheads under his breath. The relieved students start to amble back to the locker rooms, but Kira’s still on the ground with a coyote on top of her.

“Malia, this was two-hand touch not tackle,” she says.

Malia’s lip twitches and she places both hands on Kira’s shoulders and shoves her back to the ground. She looms over Kira, blond hair tumbling around them.

“Fine, I used both hands.”

Malia’s chest is pressed tightly against hers and she’s reminded of it with every breath she takes. Malia’s making this little rumbling noise that vibrates her body like a purring cat. A cat with long legs and full lips and wide brown eyes watching Kira with thinly veiled amusement.

On the way to the locker room Danny claps them both on the back.

“Good game today, ladies. You’ll definitely be my first picks next time.”

Malia smiles. It's a sharp grin to go with a sidelong glance at Kira.

“Thanks. It was  _fun_.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr


End file.
